


Bitter and Sick

by FruityFoxx



Series: Bitter and Sick [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: explanation inside, people who fetishize rape and abuse go the fuck away, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruityFoxx/pseuds/FruityFoxx
Summary: The first time his legs were spread by foreign hands, he struggled.The second time his legs were spread by the same hands, he struggled.By the third time, god forbid, he learned struggling wasn’t going to help.





	Bitter and Sick

**Author's Note:**

> hi! fruity here. so i have a couple things to say  
> i know you’ll probably read the summary and the tags and be onr of two things: 1) “oh this is sick, i can’t believe people would write this shit” or 2) “oh hell yeah im so happy there’s finally more content for this”  
> however, heres the deal, and why im writing this anyways.  
> im a rape survivor! im writing this to vent out things ways i wasn’t able to before. maybe its not the best way of doing things, but its calmed me down a lot from things i don’t want to talk about to _anyone_. (im also kin and writing most of it from memories.)  
>  that being said if you’re person #2, fuck off. im not going to let you fetishize my abuse.

_The first time his legs were spread by foreign hands, he struggled._

Jim Lake Jr. had always had a rough life, with his father leaving him when he was just age 5 and his mother being absent for the majority of his childhood being just two things. He’d had his fair share of weird and unexpected shit popping up left and right, and he thought nothing else could surprise him. However, nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for this.

He cried out as his hips dug into the table behind him, fists clenching as he looked up at the older _(older, older, older)_ man, whose hands, in turn, were on the younger _(so, so much younger)_ boy’s waist. Green eyes -- _oh, god, why the green_ \-- pierced into blue, making Jim seize up and breath heavier than he had been before. He let out another whine, shoving again against Strickler-- who only pushed back harder, causing him to cry out once more.

_Why are you doing this_ , he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out, _This isn’t protecting me._ He distantly thought back to how Strickler had tried to take the Amulet under the guise of protection, how they had fought with his mother not a room away. _Mom_ , he let out another strained whimper at the thought of her _(and as he was shoved all the way back on the dining room table, not here, at least not here, please, please)_ and realized in desperation that the one time he wanted her to be his hero, she wouldn't be there. He thrashed his legs violently, trying his damndest to kick Strickler away, to get some distance, to hurt the man so he could _escape_ \-- but to no avail. Jim could almost see the angry _(lecherous?)_ thoughts swimming behind his assailant's narrowed eyes.

His hand -- _a cold, cold hand_ \-- slipped up Jim’s shirt, resulting in him cringing and arching weirdly as his teacher’s _(god, his **teacher’s** )_ other hand pinned his arms above his head. “Please…” He finally croaked out, trying to choke down the tears that were welling up. He just leaned his closer, nose brushing lightly against Jim’s, teeth nipping at his ear. The boy flinched and writhed, lightly wailing as he felt chilly fingers brush against his chest.

“ _Young Atlas…_ ” Came the almost in-itself _stinging_ response from Strickler’s lips -- _so close to his ear, please stop, please dont call me that, please let me go_ \-- “ _I’ve been waiting a long time for this_.”

And then it went further downhill than it already was. Jim wailed again, this time louder, as he continued to push against Strickler. His breath grew more desperate, more panicked, while he struggled and Strickler raked his fingernails down his stomach. He stopped pinning Jim’s arms down and the boy quickly retaliated in a fruitless effort to get him off ( _off, off, off!_ ) as he was stripped of his pants. The tears had fallen by this point, streaming hot down his cheeks as he flailed. The perpetrator made brisk work of his own pants as well and in a desperate last attempt to free himself, he thrust a fist weakly against Strickler’s chest, only resulting in his wrist being caught and squeezed and _oh my god hes going to bruise it._

An abominable crime was committed in Jim’s dining room that night, the house being filled with his broken screams, and his sobs, and his moans as he vaguely repeated in his mind, _this isnt how a teenagers virginity should be taken._

  
_The second time his legs were spread by the same hands, he struggled._

The next few days had been full of fake cheerfulness and lies about why Jim was so quiet, _why wasn’t he eating, where did the bruise on your wrist come from?_ To which he laughed, hid his arm behind his back, and responded, “Oh, it’s nothing, I have a lot on my mind”, “I already ate”, “I tripped on it the other day!” Nobody seemed to notice how timid he got in Strickler’s class specifically, or they just never said anything.

There was a day later in the week ( _or was it two? three, perhaps? he lost count_ ), his new behavior was deemed as normal -- _thank god, thank god_ \-- and he walked up the steps into his home after spending time in Trollmarket sometime in the late afternoon, and _immediately_ his knees almost caved.

Standing beside the entrance to the kitchen was _Strickler_ , twirling a knife idly in those cold hands. Jim gulped, stepping back and pressing against the wall as the memories -- _how he touched him, how he put his lips on your skin, how he_ \-- came flooding back tenfold. He had that damned _look_ in his eyes, the same one he had that night, _the same one he had ever since_ -

He stepped closer and Jim pushed himself harder against the wall, not realizing he was just trapping himself more. He barely choked out a noise of distress as Strickler’s eyes flashed red and yellow -- _oh, thank god, that was the only thing that detached this monster from the man you used to know_ \-- and those cold hands placed themselves on his hips and lifted him into the air, _up, up, up_ against the wall. Jim wriggled desperately, trying to escape from his grip yet again and failing, yet again, as he was palmed at. Strickler’s words never really registered in his mind as he tried to get out of his grip. His efforts were again fruitless, thighs being gripped and adding more bruises, _black and blue and green and purple and nasty looking against the apricot color of his skin, but thank god no one would see them, ever, ever._

He realized in dread that this would be another secret he hid from the world, yet another thing adding onto the ever-growing list. He could never tell Toby, nor could he tell Claire, not his mother, not S-- ...

That boy was taken against his will for the second time in his life, against the wall beside the door to the basement. He recalled feeling shame afterwards as he dripped with cum that had come from himself, sitting on the floor and bawling into his bare knees.

  
_By the third time, god forbid, he learned struggling wasn’t going to help._


End file.
